


The Music of the Spheres

by GloriaVictoria



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Daddy Issues, First Time, Injury Recovery, Intercrural Sex, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaVictoria/pseuds/GloriaVictoria
Summary: A series of fics themed loosely around the nine (yes, nine) planets of our solar system, tracking moments in Hermann and Newt's relationship from Hermann's POV. Rated Explicit for later chapters. Tags and information will change as chapters post.





	1. Mercury

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this as an exercise to get me back into writing for the fandom. Hermann loves space, I love space, and I love Hermann, so I thought this worked perfectly. 
> 
> Mercury is the god of messages -- made sense to write a fic about their letters to one another, their communication, and their lack thereof.

The first letter came without warning or preamble; shoved unceremoniously between his copy of _Scientific American_ and a sheaf of ungraded student quizzes, Hermann almost missed it. It fell out from the pile with something like a flourish, turning ostentatiously in the air before settling on the tile floor. Raising his eyebrow, Hermann simply tucked it back under his arm and made his way back to his office.

He could not remember the last time he'd gotten a letter -- a real, honest-to-God letter. Certainly not since childhood, when he entertained a pen pal from Nice as part of his studies. He hadn't thought of that for years: sitting at his desk at school, toiling away at a French translation of all his silly goings-on, things only a ten year-old would find pressing. Who had contacted him now? Not his family; they'd have simply called. As for friends, well… he'd never had many of those, and still only maintained relationships of a scholarly nature with his peers and advisors. Things stayed simple that way. _Yes, and incredibly dull,_ the far less reasonable part of him complained.

He locked the door to his office as he closed it behind him, as if this nondescript envelope contained some sort of secret that he dare not reveal. Truthfully, and with no small amount of embarrassment, the letter excited him. As much as he adored his field, as deeply as he'd fallen in love with the curves and edges of numerals and integers, the field of quantum mechanics did not exactly foster human connection. A biologist, for example, could appeal to the everyday audience by talking about how deep sea fish glow in the dark, or how octopi could love. For him, the process trying to explain the beauty of numbers often ended up more convoluted and soul-crushing an endeavor than he preferred to entertain.

However, this begged the question: who on Earth felt compelled to write to him?

Examining the letter gave him no clues; the return address cut across the top of the envelope in chicken-scratch cursive so haphazard he could barely read it. Luckily, the sender had typed out the address beneath on a sticker, which read:

Office 211, Biochemistry Dept.  
Massachusetts Institute of Technology  
77 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139

Hermann thought hard. Had he ever met anyone from MIT long enough to warrant a physical correspondence? Certainly, he’d gone to enough conferences to recall some passing conversations and names, largely from his own field. He’d even fostered a brief friendship with a young lady pursuing an Astrophysics degree, a rather spunky girl that he wished he’d remembered to meet again. Then again, she hadn’t either. _Such is the life of an academic._ The bitter thought stuck in his craw like a bad taste. _Interminably lonesome._

Before Hermann opened the envelope, he pulled up his search engine and typed in the address, in full. Goodness knows he wasn't about to accept mail from someone unsavory, and plenty of such people existed in academia. After a moment, the first result yielded a name: Newton Geiszler, PhD. He’d never heard the name before, but that didn’t come as a surprise to Hermann; after all, he rarely dabbled in other fields. Nevertheless, the name _did_ sound familiar, and as he scrolled through his profile on MIT’s faculty website, he recognized it. Last summer, while attending one of many conferences, he’d heard a rumor about a young biologist who had earned his _fourth_ PhD, and not without a great deal of fuss, as the stories went. Now, this prodigy had written him a letter.

Hermann couldn’t lie, the fact that such a prolific and talented scientist had reached out to him flattered him, though the mean little voice in his head reminded him that he could have just written to inform him that his field meant little in an era where most people couldn’t even wrap their minds around the idea of astrophysics. It wouldn’t mark the first time he’d endured such criticisms. Hermann chewed his lip nervously; should he even open it?

He eased his finger under the lip of the envelope and pulled.

The envelope had barely sealed, and it snapped right open as Hermann eased the folded paper apart. Inside was the letter itself, along with a business card and, surprisingly, a photograph. He’d already seen Dr. Geiszler in his faculty portrait: he certainly cut an interesting figure with his hair styled upward in a modern cut, contrasting his old-fashioned thick-rimmed glasses. He’d paired a blazer with a top emblazoned with the logo of a band Hermann didn’t recognize, and if he wasn’t seeing things -- no, he almost certainly had worn eyeliner. In the photo he’d enclosed, however, he saw none of that -- nothing but a plain, well-worn T-shirt and a half-cocked smirk on his face. Even the glasses were gone, and rather than looking overstyled, his hair seemed to fall naturally into place, in soft brown waves.

Hermann felt his cheeks grow hot in spite of himself, and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Dr Gottlieb,_

_Hey, Dr G! Can I call you Dr G?_

_Anyway, read your new article. Totally wack, dude. I can see why everyone’s shitting on it, but like. It’s great. Dimensional physics??? Some ballsy shit._

_I've got my own ideas about that -- looking into some deep sea morphology that might confirm your theories. You ever see some of the shit that comes out of the ocean??_

_Hit me up if you wanna chat. Everyone in my department is sick of me talking their ear off, haha!_

_Peace,_ _  
_ _Newt_

Hermann felt completely baffled by this whole situation. For one, this strange man had thought it prudent to send a physical, handwritten letter for a handful of sentences. For another, he sent a photo of himself despite having one readily available online, a photo that barely resembled his faculty portrait. All of that, just to propose an exchange of ideas. What an odd fellow.

Hermann supposed he could just jot him down a quick reply via email, but after all the trouble Dr. Geiszler had gone through, shouldn't he at least try to reciprocate? The idea of sending a photograph of himself to a man he'd never met felt odd, but then again, how was it any different than posting himself on those blasted dating profiles, the ones he always ended up deleting in his anxious despair? Besides, this way he could control the image he presented to Dr. Geiszler, and perhaps avoid him finding more embarrassing images later.

Hermann toiled away at his reply all afternoon, jotting down a word or two in between grading assignments. He tried to keep it professional, despite Dr. Geiszler's apparent disregard for such veneers, and upon reading it through with his afternoon tea, found himself entirely satisfied:

_Dear Dr. Geiszler,_

_Thank you very much for your interest in my research. It flatters me to find someone not only willing to read it, but so able to see its relevance to future scientific endeavors. I rarely get to enjoy conversation about my particular area of interest, even among my peers. I will be sure to reciprocate._

_If you would like to peruse my other work, I can send you a copy of my manuscript in progress. I have also enclosed a photo of myself._ Quid pro quo _?_

_Best,_

_Dr. Hermann Gottlieb_

Hermann sat back and read through the letter once more, wondered briefly if he had tried to hard with the Latin, then slipped it into the envelope before he could change his mind.

He didn't really expect another letter, or another, or another, but they came. They arrived as regularly as his weekly grade reports and department newsletters, each bursting with as much unmitigated enthusiasm as the one before it. Dr. Geiszler regaled him with stories about his father and uncle, both of whom apparently lived in a coastal house in Boston after having retired from their jobs. He explained every single dissertation he’d ever written, including the ones in progress -- the man wanted _six_ PhDs, absolute _insanity._ He also asked Hermann things: what was his family like? Was his dad _really_ Lars Gottlieb? How did he compensate for the lack of data regarding planar energy when compiling his article on dimensional physics? The man never stopped; he wrote as if he starved for information, for connection. Hermann, understanding this, always wrote back.

After a while, Hermann came to the conclusion that Dr. Geiszler knew the meaning of loneliness; after all, people with friends rarely decided to write letters by hand to total strangers. Hermann wondered if he, too, spent nights awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands clutching the sheets, wondering if anyone else in this wide world could see or hear him. At times, Hermann fixated on that image a touch too long, and had to run to the washroom for a quick splash of water to his face.

All of Hermann's silly ruminating would come to nothing, of course. He'd never meet Dr. Geiszler; when would they have cause? What could possibly bring them together, other than chance?

Chance, as it turned out, would arrive in the guise of catastrophe.

* * *

 

Catastrophe -- the only word strong enough to describe their first meeting. Hermann had entered Anchorage Shatterdome bursting at the seams with emotion: for one, his father had come to the Dome as well, his services requested for the construction of Jaegers to combat the new Kaiju threat. His father had requested him specifically for aid in coding and programming them, and of course he'd jumped at the opportunity to show him his capabilities. For two, perhaps even more thrilling than that, Dr. Newton Geiszler had also found himself deployed to Anchorage. At last, he would meet this brilliant, handsome genius he'd corresponded with for the past two years. At last, their friendship could truly thrive.

The first time Newton Geiszler laid eyes on Hermann, he laughed. Later, he'd insist that Hermann's facial expression had just caught him off guard, that he'd taken it far too personally, that he needed to “chill out”. Hermann knew better; over the years, he had come to intimately recognize when he'd been rejected.

From then on, the two men orbited each other like the moons of Mars, always threatening to collide or veer off course. While Dr. Geiszler studied his eyeballs and entrails, Hermann summoned all his powers of intellect to the task of programming the Jaegers, learning each machine front to back, inside and out. In them, he found a new purpose. Perhaps, in time, he'd even find himself in the cockpit; after all, his father had assured him that even an average human could pilot a Jaeger, so long as they could withstand the Drift. For now, he spent his time climbing the scaffolds towering alongside the Jaegers, testing lines of code and analyzing functionality, trying to ignore the familiar, gnawing ache of solitude growing inside him.

Then, when things felt as if they could not get any worse, he fell.

Hermann tried to piece together what happened as he laid in his hospital bed, mind hazy and body broken. He remembered climbing up to a panel, maybe forty feet up, with the mind to test its circuitry. He’d had a busy morning; the newest models had been experiencing a number of technical malfunctions, not to mention that he and his father had gotten into a spectacular argument only an hour before. A thick cord, coiled on the scaffold like a hungry constrictor, had caught his foot, and then… darkness, and terrible pain.

Hermann soon received the verdict from his physician: a broken pelvis, a femur nearly cracked in two, a fractured L-4 vertebrae. The entire left hemisphere of his body thrummed with pain, and the rest of him felt heavy, exhausted. What’s more, as the doctor explained the nature of the injuries, the extensive therapy and healing they would require, he realized that any hope of piloting a Jaeger had shattered along with his body. He’d had such dreams of flying his whole life, of experiencing that awesome connection between machine and man. Now here he lay, wings clipped.

He received a phone call from his father nearly three days after the accident, long enough for Hermann’s disappointment in his absence to curdle into rage. Lars had little to say, despite his son having nearly lost his life, but he spoke in a strange, shaky voice that Hermann could not quite read. When Hermann asked why he hadn’t visited, Lars said nothing. When he asked how long he’d have to stay in the hospital, Lars said nothing. It took Hermann little time to abandon all hope of breaching his father’s impenetrable walls, and when Lars wished him well, he simply hung up the phone and cursed himself for caring.

For hours, he would aimlessly stare, clutching his sheets and trying to lose himself in the geometry of the ceiling tiles above him. Time lost meaning. He knew he’d be in this bed for weeks, braced and girded for months, rehabilitated for years -- perhaps the rest of his life. Cards and gifts trickled in here and there, gifts from his brothers and sister in Germany, but the growing shrine of well-wishes only served to widen the gulf between himself and real life. He’d thought he’d understood loneliness; this dwarfed anything he’d ever experienced before.

Finally, on one of her regular shifts, a nurse brought Hermann’s dinner and with it, a folded up piece of paper. He almost missed it, shoved beneath his plate of uneaten food. He recognized the scrawl that cut across the front of the envelope immediately as the haphazard hand of Newton Geiszler. For a brief moment, he considered crumpling it up and cramming it into his empty pudding cup for the trash, but found himself opening it up all the same. He hadn't heard anything from hardly anyone since his accident, and truth be told, he craved a message from outside these four white walls.

He began to read, and felt his chest grow tight:

_Herms,_

_Heard about your accident from one of the guys in J-Tech. Fuckin’ unbelievable. You could have died._ Died _, Hermann. That’s fucked up._

_I guess you probably won't be piloting Jaegers any time soon, but for what it’s worth… I’d rather you be here than out there. After all, who else is gonna put up with my big mouth?_

_I’m glad you’re alive. I’m glad you’re gonna be okay. I've been pretty worried,  I guess._

_When you get out, drinks are on me._

_Hang in there, dude--_

_Newt_

Hermann’s eyes stung as he finished reading, folded up the letter, and slid it underneath his pillow, beside his head. Out of everyone in his bloody life, the one person who had tried to reach out to him had been Newton Geiszler. Hermann knew very well the last things he’d said to him had not been kind. He thought back to the letters they’d written, how he’d stashed them in his closet, hidden away in an old shoebox. For a moment, that small flame of excitement he’d felt, once guttered, now sprang back to life. His lips curled into a shaky smile, and for the first time in days, he fell asleep with ease. How strange, that the man he had least wanted to see had sent him the words he most desperately wanted to hear.

 _I'm glad you're alive._  

When Hermann returned to the Shatterdome, nearly four months after his fall, he found all of his things removed to the K-Science department, along with his chalkboards and tea kettle and even his favorite pens. Things had returned to normal, and yet had totally changed. He could no longer walk without the assistance of a cane, which still made his arm and shoulder ache from the effort. When he walked through the halls, people who had once never paid him any mind now watched him with pity as he made his way past. He received his new brief from the Marshal -- to study and analyze Breach appearance patterns, and create projections for use in the event of future attacks: a task he’d already begun, months earlier, but had fallen by the wayside when nobody else quite understood the mathematics behind it. At least Hermann knew he was needed, something which did not quite take the bite out of his new way of life.

As soon as he stepped into the lab, he noticed something else that had not changed: Newton Geiszler. The man ran back and forth across the room, bumping into other scientists, leaking Kaiju fluids on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs ridiculous things like “Move, I’m gay!” as if he didn’t have dozens of coworkers who fit that description. Hermann sighed and rolled his eyes, making his way to his desk. _Preposterous man._

“Hey, Herms! Good to see ya, man!” Newton hollered and waved, splashing entrails on his assistant, who glared and wiped her glasses.

“Good morning, Newton. I see you’re as much a terror as I remember.” Hermann retorted. When his eyes fell on the monitor of his computer, he paused, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. Newton had left dozens of Post-It notes tacked to the screen, most of them quick thoughts about his research jotted down, others things like pizza orders (why?), little doodles of Kaiju, well-wishes from other people. They were silly, they had made a mess on his workstation, and on his first day back! Yet he couldn't summon up the will to get angry. In fact, he didn't quite know _how_ he felt: warm, perhaps a little sad, but mostly... he felt at  _home._ For all of Newton's rough edges and obnoxious ways, he always knew what to say, even if he didn't say it. Hermann smiled in spite of himself.

“It’s good to be back.”


	2. Venus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of fics themed loosely around the nine (yes, nine) planets of our solar system, tracking moments in Hermann and Newt's relationship from Hermann's POV. Rated Explicit for later chapters. Tags and information will change as chapters post.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Venus: the god of beauty, love, and sexual desire. What better way to celebrate that than some good ol' first time sex?

Tendo Choi always threw notoriously wild birthday parties for himself. Quite often, he commandeered both LOCCENT and the entire mess hall, using the former as his personal stereo system and the latter as a dance hall. Nobody knew exactly how he managed to convince the command staff to overlook it every year. Perhaps he’d sold it to them as an “enrichment activity” or a way to boost morale, which it did do -- usually in the form of what Hermann could only describe as Bacchic revelry that would put Dionysus himself to shame. At least they left out the part of the night where they rip their spouses to shreds. 

As much as Hermann enjoyed Tendo’s company, he rarely attended these parties. He always left a little gift on his dashboard in LOCCENT and a card, but couldn’t bring himself to show up to the celebration. After all, how much fun could it be, cramming yourself into a room with 500 other people, bumping and knocking into each other, barely able to breathe from the heat or hear over the “music” blaring over the loudspeaker? Hermann much preferred small gatherings, ones where you could have a conversation, ones where you could actually hear yourself think. Besides, he’d tried it before, and nearly ended up on the ground in a puddle of some unknown alcoholic liquid five minutes after he’d arrived. He certainly didn’t want to repeat that experience.

Unfortunately, as he would come to learn, this year he would have to.

This year, something far more momentous than Tendo Choi’s birthday fell on May 17: the signing of the Lima, Peru Shatterdome agreement. The Defense Council had begun these talks six months ago, as part of the never ending effort to secure the entire Pacific Rim. Convincing America and China to play took no work; the two countries built the Kodiak Proving Grounds and Hong Kong Shatterdome within a year of each other. Peru, on the other hand, required some haggling. They didn’t have the kind of resources required for such a project, and they’d already spent a great deal on the construction of Solar Prophet, their Mark-2 Jaeger. Hermann supposed that the PPDC must have hatched a plan to fund the thing -- fabulous news, of course! Except that now, almost certainly, Tendo’s birthday party would become a unspoken celebration for this momentous occasion, and good God, did the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps love to party.

Deep down, he understood the impulse. When every day could be your last, when you constantly work against the clock ever ticking toward annihilation, you welcome the chance to let off some steam. At least, most people did. For Hermann, that impulse usually looked like crawling into bed and crying, followed by a long shower and three pots of tea. Everybody handled stress differently, that’s all. 

Predictably, Newton Geiszler came barreling into the lab that morning, already talking his head off to the K-Science staff about what was bound to be the most “bitchin’ party this Dome’s ever seen”. Hermann sighed and made his way up the ladder to his most recent batch of calculations, trying desperately to block out the growing cacophony below. As he’d expected,  _ everyone _ had their minds on the party tonight, and that’s all they wanted to discuss. Yes, of course. Perhaps Hermann makes a mistake on one of his formulas, miscalculates the next Breach event, and millions of people die because it takes too long to mobilize a Jaeger. Oh, that’s just fine. Let’s talk about streamers and vodka instead. 

Inevitably, and much to Hermann’s chagrin, his absence from the conversation came to Newton’s attention. As he approached Hermann’s workstation, he proceeded to lob a paper wad at the chalkboard, missing Hermann by a mile and hitting the ladder instead. 

“Hey, come on, Hermann! Don’t be an asshole, come down here and engage with other humans for a hot minute!” He yelped, hands on his hips. “Like, seriously? You can’t enjoy yourself for one second, can you?” Hermann glared down at him, pointing with his chalk for emphasis.

“Just because I don’t enjoy drinking myself to death and touching people I barely know, does  _ not _ mean I don’t know how to have fun, Newton.” 

“Oh, come  _ onnnnn, _ ” Newton replies in that whiny voice he used when he knew Hermann likely would not budge. “There’s more to the party than that.”

“Really? How would you know? Do you even remember last year’s party?” Hermann sniped. 

“Hey! That’s rude, you dickhead!” Newt rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “God, you’re fucking hopeless, man.” 

“Well, never fear, Newton. I’d imagine that given the circumstances, the social pressure will compel me to attend. I really cannot comprehend why you want me there so badly. It’s not like I’ll add to it.” Something changed in Newton’s expression that Hermann couldn’t quite identify, and he finally turned away.

“Whatever, man. Go sit in your room and read  _ Bleak House _ or do sudoku, whatever you do for fun. God forbid someone ask you to get excited about something other than numbers.” Newton walked back to their teammates, who had since gone quiet and returned to their work. 

The truth of the matter laid in this: Hermann did not  _ like  _ to get excited, especially not around other people. It made him feel terribly exposed, especially given how his body betrayed him. He’d struggled with that all through childhood, trying not to embarrass himself with his exaggerated, gangly movements and impulses. With his injury, he felt even more clumsy and awkward. Eventually, he’d decided to avoid such situations entirely, which essentially limited his social circle to his immediate coworkers, most of whom never wanted to interact with him anyway. Newton’s jab at him, however, made him stew. Quite frankly, it made him angry. For God’s sake, he was capable of having fun! His idea of fun, however, did not seem sufficient for Newton Geiszler. 

So it happened that when the end of the workday arrived, K-Science emptied out into the hallway, making plans for the party. Meanwhile, Hermann lingered behind, sighing in relief as silence crept back into the lab, bit by bit. He gathered his things one at a time, sliding them into his bag as he considered what his evening would look like -- he had to concede that Newton’s description wasn’t totally inaccurate. Fine! After all this time, why shouldn’t that suit him? Hermann sniffed and made his way back to his quarters. On the way there, he passed the mess hall, where Tendo had already begun directing preparations for his birthday-turned-Corps celebration. He’d hung a huge banner, declaring in English, Spanish, and Chinese, “Happy Birthday Tendo & Lima Shatterdome!”, the latter name having been added comically in black ink. Others from J-Tech and K-Sci alike had begun inflating balloons, hanging streamers, and pushing tables against the wall to make room for a crowd of dancers. 

For a moment, Hermann reconsidered, then sighed and continued on to his room. 

Time slowed to a crawl from then. Hermann, for all his intentions of having a peaceful, relaxing night to himself, could not for the life of him focus on anything. He took a shower, made a pot of tea and then another, reviewed his calculations from the day far too many times than he should have. He even read from a novel his sister Karla had sent, but with every page he found his eyes wandering to the door. The agony only worsened when he began to hear partygoers storm down the hallway, laughing and yelling and sounding… well, sounding downright jubilant. Hermann chewed his lip and checked the time again: 7:55 pm. The party proper had started almost an hour ago. Sighing deeply, he let his head fall back onto the headrest of his chair, and after a few moments, he found himself falling asleep. 

“...mann. Hey, Hermann…” 

Some unknown time later, Hermann woke to someone calling his name. After a few moments, once Hermann had realized the voice wasn’t going away, he groaned and sat up. His neck ached, and his leg had grown sore from where he’d leaned his weight against it. As he opened his eyes, he saw Newton Geiszler standing above him, his face not quite a foot away from his own.

“Dude. You okay?” Newt asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Newton! Do you--do you make a habit of breaking into people’s rooms!?” Hermann spat, forcing far more indignation into his voice than he actually felt. 

“Uh, dude. The door was unlocked. Anyway, I just came to check on you, since you said you weren’t coming to the party. It’s lame sitting around alone when everyone else is out having fun.”

“I assure you, I’m quite happy with this arrangement.” Hermann sniffed, eliciting a chuckle from Newton in response.

“Right. You fell asleep, Hermann. Sounds like a rockin’ time to me.” Newton shoved his hands into his pocket, tapping his foot in an attempt at looking nonchalant. “Well, I just stopped by to, ya know… see if you wanted to come to the party. Ya know. With me. Kinda like...a plus one situation, except like… it’s not a date, we’re just coworkers.”

“I understand the nature of our personal and professional relationship, Newton.” Hermann responded drily. “You… really want me to go to this party? With you? Associated with you?” Newt rolled his eyes and threw his hands up.

“Yes! Geez, man…” He paced back and forth for a bit, then put his hands on his hips, an irritated look on his face. “So are you coming?” Hermann paused for a minute to consider, eyeing Newton carefully. He’d changed out of his work attire into a soft, worn-out band t-shirt that hugged his middle and hips just right, and jeans somehow tighter than the ones he’d worn earlier in the day. He’d also gelled his hair again, pushed it back into its traditional, flouncy shape. Hermann looked away, feeling his cheeks flush. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Just for a little while.” Newt’s face erupted in a brilliant grin, and he gave Hermann a hearty smack on the back.

“Nice! Dude, you’re gonna have a great time. Everyone’s having so much fun! Oh…” Newt paused, scratching his hair. “You gonna wear that?” 

“What else should I wear, exactly?” Hermann crossed his arms, arching his brow. 

“Hm. Fair enough. At least leave the blazer, yeah? Roll your sleeves up? Try to look casual?” Hermann huffed and complied, feeling quite odd with his pale, gangly limbs exposed. “Maybe...loosen your tie a bit? You always look like you're gonna choke to death.” Newt added with a shrug. 

“Don't push your luck, Geiszler.”

* * *

By the time Hermann and Newt arrived, the party had reached a fever pitch. Nearly half the Dome had come, filling the mess hall to the brim. The walls seemed to shake with the volume of the music, and gently strobing colored lights broke through the general dimness. Most everyone had broken into groups on the main floor, laughing and dancing together, screaming commentary to each other over the din.

At the center of it all, of course, reigned the birthday boy, Tendo. He cruised through the crowd with ease to meet them at the door, his arm around a young lady from J-Tech named Allison Harris. Hermann liked her quite a lot, in fact, but seeing them together in this way made something in him ache that he did not quite understand. 

“Hey, I'll be damned! You got him to show! I can't believe it, brother, I'm impressed.” Tendo high-fived Newt and then reached out to shake Hermann's hand. “Thanks for coming. It's been a hell of s party so far, man. You'll love it.” 

“I certainly hope I can enjoy it.” Hermann replied; Tendo simply laughed. 

“Stick with Newt and you're sure to have a good time!” He called as he made his way back into the crowd with Allison, kissing her as he pulled her close.

Hermann swallowed and stood on the edge of the dance floor, unsure of what to do with himself; he felt entirely out of place, all elbows. Newton, on the other hand, sprang immediately into action, bouncing from one dance partner to the next, barely pausing as he danced and jumped to the music blaring from the sound system. Hermann watched, chewing his lip, wondering why he'd ever agreed to come in the first place. He knew this would happen, he just  _ knew  _ \--

“Herms, come dance with me!” Newt cried out to him, waving him over. Hermann pointed at himself dumbly, and Newton laughed. “Yeah, you! Know any other Hermanns?” Hermann shuffled over to Newt, eyes darting around desperately searching for anything on which to anchor themselves. 

“I assure you, Newton, I'm an abysmal dancer. Really, you should ask someone else.” 

“Hermann…” Newt answered with a look far too intense for Hermann to ignore. “I'm asking  _ you. _ ” Hermann swallowed and put his hand out. 

“You'll have to help me.” He honestly could not believe his own eyes, but with a few well-placed steps and nudges at the hips, Newton had him dancing -- at least, it looked something like dancing, he thought. Besides, he had his mind on other things, like the way a bead of sweat would occasionally roll under the collar of Newt's shirt, or the way his smile gleamed under the colored lights. Hermann caught himself staring and cleared his throat, the spell broken. 

“I should -- er, I was going to get something to drink…” Hermann stuttered, and Newt turned to answer. 

“Oh, yeah, sure! Don't leave me hangin’, ok?” Hermann rushed off the dance floor and into the darker, safer haven where the drinks and food sat on tables covered in cheap plastic sheets. He found a seat and plopped down in it, leaning his cane on the table and burying his head in his hands. Something dangerous had just happened out there, something Hermann had experienced only a few times before. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to keep his head from swimming.

A hand closed on his shoulder, and Newt's voice reached his ear, softly.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, and Hermann shook his head. “Here, come on. Let's get out of here.” Newton pulled Hermann up and took his hand, leading him carefully through the throng of partygoers and out into the cool hallway. Before long, Hermann found himself outside his own door again. 

“Thank...thank you, Newton, I…” He looked up into Newt's eyes and found them incredibly green, incredibly clear. How had he not noticed them before? 

“Hey, it's no problem. It's my fault, anyway, I fucked up and pressured you to come to that stupid party.”

“Yes, but…” Hermann felt his throat go dry. He knew he had to do  _ something _ , but his body felt stiff, rigid as a post. “I enjoyed it, all the same.” 

“Yeah?” Heh, good.” Newt cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well… I guess I should--” 

“Yes, it is quite late, isn’t it? Certainly past my--” Before Hermann could finish his sentence, Newt took a step forward, closing the expanse between them. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered in a choked voice, then grabbed Hermann’s head in his hands, pulling him down into a bruising kiss that took his breath away. Hermann reached for the wall, his legs nearly giving out on him as Newt pressed the keypad with one hand, holding the back of Hermann’s neck with the other. Before he stepped one inch further into Hermann’s room, Newt looked up at him, the obvious question written in his face. 

“You want it?” Newton asked anyway, a playful smirk curling across his face. Hermann felt his whole body begin to thrum with… yes, that’s what it was.  _ Need. _ He  _ needed  _ Newton, and he needed him as quickly as possible. 

Hermann nodded, and Newt pushed him through the door. 

Newt guided Hermann carefully back toward the bed, and he tried his best not to trip. As soon as he felt the edge of the mattress against the back of his calves he sat down, and Newt slotted himself between his shaking legs. Hermann’s hands hovered hesitantly over Newt’s hips, but as Newt slid his lips over Hermann’s neck, his lack of surety vanished, and he yanked him closer. 

“Fuck… fuck, Herms, you like that?” Newt breathed into Hermann’s ear, pressing his thigh urgently against Hermann’s groin. Hermann nodded, pressing his face into the crook of Newt’s shoulder, a soft moan escaping his lips as Newt unbuttoned his shirt. “You don’t have to just sit there, then.” Newt nipped his ear gently with his teeth. “Touch me.” 

Hermann obeyed, sliding his hands up the colorful expanse of Newton’s chest, relishing the feeling of the goosebumps that rose on his skin. He had scoffed at those tattoos, always found them distasteful, unappealing. Right now, his disgust barely registers. In fact, he thinks they’re almost beautiful, though he’d  _ never  _ tell Newton that. Hermann leans forward and presses his mouth to Newton’s chest, capturing one of his nipples in his mouth. As he sucked, he heard Newton above him whine his name.

“Oh, Hermann, fuck yeah…” Newton buried a hand in Hermann’s hair and gripped it hard. “Don’t stop…” How could Hermann stop? Quite frankly, he didn’t know how this had  _ started. _ Something about that party, the lurid delirium, the way Newton’s body moved beneath the lights… never in his wildest imagination would Hermann have attempted this in any other situation. In fact, he’d not even considered such a thing possible, and yet…

“Newton, on the bed.” Hermann muttered against his skin, and Newton complied immediately, pulling Hermann along. As he rolled over he felt his leg protest, but for once, he ignored it. He had no doubt he’d regret that later, but chances were good he’d regret this entire night. For some reason, he could not bring himself to care; all of those impulses to hesitate and question had fallen away from his mind. 

“Come on, Hermann.” Newt practically  _ whined _ , and Hermann crawled between his legs, sliding his palm up and down along the hardening bulge in Newton’s pants. “Fuck, I need it. I need you right fucking now, Hermann.” 

“I don’t have…” Hermann began, and Newton yanked him into a kiss that sent sparks flying behind Hermann’s eyelids. 

“I don’t care.” Newton gripped his shoulders and locked eyes with Hermann. “I need you to fuck me right now.” Whatever madness had taken over Hermann’s mind seemed to have affected Newton as well; now, he’d begun unbuckling Hermann’s belt, yanking it through the loops before attacking the button and zipper.

“Newton…” As he watched Newton push his trousers to his knees, he felt his cheeks flush as the long, angry scar there emerged, still an ugly pink even after a year of recovery. Before he had a chance to dwell, Newton turned Hermann over onto his back and straddled his hips.

“There’s more than one way to fuck, Hermann.” Newton gently eased his fingertips beneath the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down until he had freed Hermann’s cock. It bounced gently upward, coming to rest on his stomach. Hermann saw Newton’s eyes widen, gleaming with excitement. “Holy shit. You never told me you were packing this much heat, dude”

“I don’t...when would I have... “ Hermann felt his embarrassment coiling inside his mind, threatening to choke out the mindless bliss that had brought him here, but before he could say anything to drive it all to a halt, Newt bent down and sucked the head of his cock between his lips. Having Newton so close to his scar made Hermann’s heart thud in his ears, but if it shocked or disgusted Newton, he did not seem to show it. In fact, as he slid his mouth further around Hermann’s length, he seemed to come even further alive, letting out a primal moan and wrapping his hand around his own cock. 

Watching Newton pleasure himself as he sucked him off sent Hermann’s mind into a tailspin. He  _ had  _ done things like this before; he’d been a bookworm and a recluse, but for God’s sake, he had at least a few of those basic experiences, mostly in college. None of those moments held a candle to this. On the one hand, he thought he’d never felt so alive before in his life. He wanted to reach down and pull Newton against him, around him,  _ inside him. _ At the same time, he wanted to run and hide, wrap his blankets around himself and disappear. Even now, with his brain fogged with bliss, he could not chase away that haunting question:  _ what will happen tomorrow? _

“Hey, Hermann.” Newt had pulled away for just a moment, his lips ruddy and gleaming with saliva, his eyes watering. “I’ve got an idea.” Hermann said nothing, his tongue a lead weight in his mouth. He simply nodded, and Newton once again took the initiative, laying back-to-chest against Hermann and turning him on his side. “I want you to fuck my thighs.”

“You w-want me to what?” He asked in a shaking whisper.

“You heard me. You said you didn’t have lube and condoms and shit. You don’t need them for this.” Newt looked over his shoulder. “Please, Hermann, I wanna feel… fuck, I wanna feel your cock on me. It’s fucking  _ gorgeous. _ ” 

“Yes, Newton. Yes, okay.” Hermann’s clunky acquiescence fell from his lips and Newton positioned himself appropriately, pulling Hermann’s hand around to rest on his hip. Hermann pushed his own hips forward; the wetness of his cock from Newton’s ministrations made this makeshift penetration effortless, and it seemed Newton had supplemented the slickness between his legs as he’d pleasured himself.  _ Good God, _ Hermann thought briefly before all conscious thought flickered out as Newton pushed back against him, his soft ass against Hermann’s stomach and his hand bracing against his thigh. 

“Hermann, hurry, Jesus Christ, hurry up and  _ fuck me. _ ” Hermann obeyed, thrusting between Newton’s thighs with an urgency he’d never felt before. He wanted to please Newton, needed to make his wishes a reality. For now, only this mattered: Newton’s body beside him, shaking with want and his own body, screaming at Hermann to deliver his desires. Besides, it felt  _ right _ and  _ good,  _ my God, did it feel simply  _ divine. _

“Newton, oh... oh, yes!” Hermann dug his fingers harder into the flesh of Newton’s hips, eliciting a squeak of surprise that encouraged Hermann to fuck him faster, faster. He felt the familiar coil of orgasm building in his stomach, tried to will it back, but Newton refused to let him slow down.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare stop, Hermann, don’t you  _ dare! _ ” Hermann nodded, grunting into Newton’s shoulder, tasting his sweat on his lips and tongue. “F-fuck, Hermann, I’m so close, _ please-- _ ” 

Newton’s plea was enough to push Hermann over the edge. With a final thrust he came over Newton’s skin and the sheets, letting out a choked moan against his shoulder blade. Newton cried out and, with a few pumps of his own hand around his cock, followed suit as Hermann’s mind grew heavy and tired. Newton turned to face him, pressed a kiss to the corner of Hermann’s mouth. His eyelids fluttered. Newton whispered something into his ear as he slipped into sleep like a warm bath. 

When he woke, Newton had gone, leaving nothing but a cold spot in the stained sheets.


End file.
